


Wake me up on Sunday

by padaperfect



Series: Wake me up on Sunday [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-04
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-22 10:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padaperfect/pseuds/padaperfect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel dies on a friday. He was the one who always took care of Dean, and now it's Dean's turn to take care of himself and their daughter, Aan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pens

"Daddy, when is papa coming home?"

Aan didn't look up, just continued to pick at a loose string on her pajama bottoms. Dean inhaled sharply, emotions pulling his heart strings and begging to sting his eyes with tears. 

He shouldn't have to explain the concept of Death to her this early on. She’s just a bit older than Dean was when his mother died, and suddenly, he understood the madness that seemed to consume his father soon after her death.

His eyes were red and puffy from crying, and his throat was scratchy from all the screaming he’d recently done. His hand was cut up and bruised from punching a brick wall, and he hadn't slept in two days. The absence of Castiel seemed to hang over him, taunting him and urging on the insanity that seemed to be seeping from the corners of his mind.

Aan doesn't understand completely what’s going on, and Dean doesn't have the heart to explain it to her. Sam and Sarah had offered to watch her while Dean took care of funeral planning. 

"Aan, why don’t you head upstairs and I’ll be up in a minute to tuck you in." 

"But papa usually tells me a bedtime story." she protested, a pout making it’s way onto her face.

"I’ll tell you one tonight, your favorite." Dean forced a smile, running a hand through her long sandy hair.

"The one about the angel and the right man?"

"Righteous man, Aan. It’s righteous." Dean snorted, wondering when his life became a bedtime story.

"Okay!" she squirmed out of Dean’s lap, running up the stairs looking like a little pink ball. 

Dean smiled at her once more, before leaning forward after she was out of sight and letting his face fall into his hands. 

He felt nauseous and dizzy, he hadn't eaten since the accident. Hell, he hadn't done anything for himself since the accident.

He lifted his head, smiling at the stupid candle that Cas had recently bought; remembering the small fight they had over it. It all seems so pointless now - everything seems pointless without Cas.

Why should the world keep spinning without him? Why should everyone have to now live without the smile that shined bright enough to light up a city?

"Cas," he began, eyes starting to sting.

"What the hell am I-" his voice broke, and he took a deep breath before speaking again.

"What the hell am I supposed to do without you?" he asked, looking skyward and wiping away the tears that began to fall.

Lately the tears didn't seem to stop falling, in the same way Dean fell for Cas everyday, and in the same way Cas fell from grace for his righteous man. 

He wiped his face and composed himself, getting up slowly from the couch and heading upstairs to tuck Aan in. 

He made his way towards Aan’s bed, kneeling down beside it and grabbing her hand. She smiled, wrapping her tiny fingers around Dean’s.

She turned toward her closet, looking at her leotard and tutu that hung readily from a hanger. 

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

She frowned slightly, looking at Dean through hopeful eyes.

"Is papa gonna’ be at my ballet?"

Dean cleared his throat, kissing her on the forehead and forcing a half-smile.

"I don’t think so, baby."

*

The days leading up to the funeral went by slowly, filled with silences that were no longer interrupted by Cas’s laughter or even Dean’s for that matter. Their home is silent, not even the sound of Aan dancing in her room to break the painful quiet. 

Sam and Sarah were watching her, because Dean’s been unable to take care of himself let alone his daughter. It’s only for a day or two, while Dean pulls himself together enough to leave the house, which he hasn’t.

He sipped at his fourth cup of coffee this morning, or, afternoon, - clutching the cup so tight it he thought it might shatter beneath his fingertips.

Maybe if he holds onto this cheap ceramic mug they had bought last christmas, reading “Happy Holiday’s!" with a christmas tree on it, that he could clutch onto his sanity as well.

Clutch onto ugly sweater vests, and silent conversations between the two of them when Cas would come home, bags filling each arm and Aan jumping up excitedly exclaiming “Papa got me new slippers! And tutu’s!" and he swore that Cas looked more excited than Aan did.

Maybe if Dean held on tight enough to this stupid, cheap, ugly mug - then he would feel the brush of fingertips running through his hair, as Cas sleepily walked in and poured himself a cup of coffee in an equally ridiculous mug that was Valentines Day themed. 

Lost in his thoughts, Dean took another sip - cringing as the cold liquid slid down his throat. How long had he been thinking? His coffee was hot just a second ago. 

He pulled himself up, instantly grabbing his head as it throbbed - a reminder that all he’s consumed in the past 32 hours is coffee. He set his cup in the sink, fiddling with his wedding ring and remembering how Cas used to take his off when he would cook.

He shortly contemplated going upstairs and sleeping for another 10 hours, in attempt to forget everything for as long as he could. Though, he knows that not even unconsciousness can heal this wound.

He dreams of Cas, he dreams of ugly trenchcoats and high school plays. He dreams of cheap cologne and Mrs. Wiig yelling at them as they ran down the hall, laughing. He dream’s of proposal’s and wedding bells and “I do’s". And Dean thinks that worse, because what used to be a dream come true, has all too quickly become a nightmare.

As he’s leaving the kitchen, he notices a pad of paper and a stack of envelopes. His heart stops beating, and he swears he hears it shatter in the silence of the house. He should throw them out. He should rip them up or shred them or burn them or do anything besides what he’s about to do.

He walks slowly to the table they’re on, eyeing them and tracing his fingers over the old paper. There’s no pen, though. There’s no freaking pen. Why isn’t there a pen on the table with writing supplies? Why is there no pen? There isn’t even a pencil.

Dean swiftly walks to the drawer where there should be a full pack of them, but it’s filled with old crayons and scotch tape and no fucking pens! He just bought a pack last month when they all played hangman on the couch, they were just there.

"Shit," he breathes, rummaging through every other counter, cabinet, and surface of the house. 

"Shit, Shit, Shit. No." He pleads, running a hand roughly through his hair and biting his lip so he can’t cry. He doesn’t stop until the metallic taste of blood rests in his mouth. 

After grabbing the keys and throwing on slippers, he practically runs to the Impala, speeding to the store even though there’s snow flurries outside and he’s in a bathrobe and pajamas.

The first place he see’s is open, he swerves into the parking lot, pulling in completely crooked into a parking space with a screech. The air is crisp and cold around him, hitting his lungs and making him gasp. His hands are cold and they itch to reach out and grab Castiel’s to keep his warm.

Oh.

The door dings as he walks in, and the mini mart smells like coffee beans and cleaning supplies and as he’s running to the supplies section he see’s a little girl that looks just like Aan running around on the other side of the store.

In fact, she’s even wearing the same scarf Dean got Aan a few weeks ago when it started getting cold, and-

"Dean?"

Dean turned around quickly, eyes widening at the sight of Sarah. Her cheeks are pink and her face is full of concern. She looks Dean over, more worried than humoured that Dean is in public in his bathrobe. 

"What are you- how’d you know we’d be here?"

Dean turns away, walking to a different aisle and making a gesture with his hand, motioning Sarah to follow as he scanned each shelf, getting angrier and angrier with each step he took.

He felt Sarah lay a hand on his, not noticing until now that he was shaking. He felt warm tears stream down his face and he continued to bite his already swollen and cut up lip. 

"Dean." She said, gently grabbing his face with her hand and forcing him to make eye contact. He fell to the floor, sobbing into his hands and gasping for air. Causing a scene, no doubt. 

Good, he thought. He wants people to stare, he wants them to be alarmed. He wants the world’s attention, no - deserves the worlds attention.

"They’re out of pens!" He cried, louder than he expected. His sobs wracked his body and he felt like he could pass out at any minute. He was dizzy and nauseous and tired.

"Pens?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow, and continuing to stroke Dean’s hand. She looked genuinely confused as he said this, and Sam appeared behind Dean, only within Sarah’s eyesight. She gestured for him to take Aan away, not wanting her to see her dad like this. Sam took Aan’s hand and led her toward the ice cream aisle.

"They’re out of pens! They’re out of pens and there aren’t any in the house! I can’t write him a letter, Sarah. I can’t even write it! There are no pens! And Cas always said that handwritten letters mean the most, and I don’t want to let him down. The house is quiet now, and it never used to be quiet, Cas is dead, Sarah, he’s dead. I can’t even take care of my own daughter! And people are staring," he stopped - gasping and clutching his chest as he tried to breathe.

"And there are no pen’s."

*

Sarah decided that Dean was in no shape to drive home, and after several protests on his part - he finally agreed to let her drive him home. They took the Impala, and Sam took Aan back to their house in his car.

They drove back in silence, only Dean’s deep breaths shattering the peaceful quiet. Dean and Cas used to love the snow, they would sometimes watch it fall down in gentle flakes, visibly sparkling under the streetlights.

Dean finds himself hating snow more and more with each day, since the accident. He detests it. How can something so beautiful, cause such destruction? Cause so much pain. He thinks Cas was like that too, such a beautiful thing, but somehow is causing so many people pain.

As they pull into the driveway, Dean notices that he didn’t turn on any lights in the house before he left. It looks strange that way. Cas always kept the kitchen light on, and Dean would constantly bitch at him about it putting the electric bill through the roof. He wishes he wouldn’t have done that.

"It’s cold, let’s go inside, hm?"

Sarah didn’t force a smile, and Dean’s kind of glad for it. He’s getting really tired of uncomfortable laugh’s and attempts to make him feel better. He’s tired of “I’m sorry." and he’s tired of “He’s in a better place," because what’s a better place for him than home? What’s better than his husband and his daughter and Dr. Sexy M.D reruns on the couch every saturday? 

Dean nods, getting out of the car and shivering as a chill goes up his spine. The snow is starting to layer now and it crunches beneath his feet, making it’s way into his slippers and making his feet burn when they finally get inside.

Sarah shucks off her coat, eyes scanning over the surprisingly clean house. She picks up one of Cas’s candles, smelling it and smiling at the flowery scent. Dean grabs a blanket from the back of the couch and wraps himself in it, suddenly cold.

"Have you eaten?"

Dean shakes his head, burying it deeper into the plush blanket hoping maybe when he lifts his head again that Castiel will kiss his forehead and explain to him that he was having a bad dream. That doesn’t happen.

Sarah squints at Dean before quickly giving up on being able to understand what he’s thinking. She walks to the kitchen, searching through the cabinets for something to cook. Something hot. She finally settles on chicken soup, pulling out a pot and setting it on the counter.

While she waits for the water to boil, she walks back out to the living room to tell Dean what she’s making, only to find him half asleep. She has to swallow down the urge to let him sleep, because she’s afraid if he doesn’t eat he’ll only make himself sicker.

"What." he grumbles, putting a pillow over his head and groaning.

"I’m making chicken noodle soup, Dean. You need to sit up and eat some, I’m not leaving until you eat, okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Wake me up on Sunday," he whispers.


	2. Keeping Memories Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The funeral is getting closer, and Dean needs a distraction now more than ever. Family seems like the best idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this also hasn't been beta'd so i apologize for any mistakes!

When Dean finally wakes up the next morning, he sits up, looking around the room and immediately feeling guilty for snapping at Sarah. She lost her mom a few years ago, and he hopes she understands. Then again, he barely understands. He feels like he’s trapped in one of those rooms you see in haunted houses, where the walls are spinning and it makes you feel like the rest of the world is spinning, too. He wants off this ride.

He stands up and teeters on his heels for a minute, dizzy and still half asleep. He trudges to the kitchen, and goes to the fridge. Theres a container with what appears to be soup in it, with a note on top that reads: DEAN, PLEASE EAT THIS. CALL US IF YOU NEED ANYTHING. - SARAH.

The grumble and dull ache in his stomach persuade him to eat some, so he warms up a bowl. As he’s waiting, he picks up a picture they have sitting on the windowsill above the sink. It’s in a silver frame that has cliche phrases about family along the sides, and the picture is of Aan, Dean, and Cas. He smiles at the memories of that day. It was the first week of spring, and Cas was pining for the fresh warm air that Kansas hadn’t seen in months.

The timer beeps, pulling him out of his thoughts and pissing him off a bit, honestly. He grouchily takes the bowl to the table and forces himself to eat the soup, though he can’t taste it. He can tell this will be hard to keep down, and that has nothing to do with Sarah’s cooking.

After several bites, he puts his bowl in the sink - completely unable to finish it. He feels a bit better, though. He knows his body will thank him later. But it’s freezing in the house, and Dean’s hesitant to turn the heat on. Maybe if his fingers and toes are numb, then he can pretend he has a valid reason to stall filling out papers for the funeral. There’s already a date set, though, and that chills Dean in away that all the warm blankets and space heaters in the world couldn’t fix. The finality of it makes him tremble.

He decides a shower is needed, and he turns the water on to the warmest setting, which granted, isn’t that warm. But it’s more than comfortable. He uses Cas’s shampoo, and the smell of it makes him want to stay there forever. He let’s the water rinse all traces of the shampoo off, kind of how the world rinsed Cas from it. Got rid of him with no hesitance or guilt, and left everyone missing his presence. 

When he’s done, he wraps himself in a fluffy towel and stares in the mirror for a moment. He stares at all the little smudges that toothpaste left on it, the ones that Cas would always get mad about. The ones that will probably stay there, because Cas was the one who cared most about trivial stuff like that.

He gets himself dressed, wearing Cas’s old favorite t-shirt. It’s soft and warn from years of use, and it still smells faintly off him. Dean allows himself to press his nose against the shoulder of it and breathe Cas in. He puts on a pair of jeans and then his shoes and socks. He throws on his jacket on his way out the door. He’s driving to the gas station on the corner before he can talk himself out of it, remind himself that this is a bad idea.

When he walks in, the man working the register looks surprised, but happy to see him nonetheless. He smiles warmly and informs Dean of a sale they’re having on his favorite coffee. The kind Dean and Cas would always buy on cold mornings on the way home from dropping Aan at school. The kind that smelled like chocolate, and tasted like hazelnuts.

"Dean! What can I help you with? Where’s Castiel?"

Dean cringes, unable to explain to him what happened. He had been working at this place for 20 years, and would always give Dean and Cas free leftovers from whatever kind of pastry or doughnut they were serving that day, back when they were in high school. He can’t tell him, can’t stand to break his heart the same way that Dean’s is.

"Uh," his voice breaks and he takes a deep breath before trusting himself to speak.

"Just me today Rob, sorry to disappoint." Dean forces a laugh, before pointing behind the counter.

"Pack of Marlboro Red’s."

Rob gives Dean a weary look, that holds a bit of disappointment but mostly concern. Dean catches this, and fakes his hundredth smile this week.

"Thought you quit, Dean."

"I did."

He should just give them to him, without question. Should just hand them over, take the cash and say “Have a nice day.” But he doesn’t, because he’s not just some worker at a gas station, and that’s what hurts the most. He’s letting someone that he cares about down yet again, and he figures by now that’s inevitable, so what the hell?

Rob finally complies, sliding them across the counter and accepting the money. Dean gives a grateful look, grabbing them and heading out the door. But Rob grabs his hand, scanning over his face and furrowing his brow.

"Take care of yourself, Dean." 

He doesn’t say anything else, and let’s go. Dean walks out to the car, shivering and zipping up his jacket a little more. He slides into the Impala, opening the pack of cigarettes and lighting one. He takes a long pull, inhaling and exhaling slowly. He feels some of the tension roll of his shoulders, and he closes his eyes. 

You know the way smoke lingers in the car when the windows aren’t down? It drifts around, not really headed towards some place in particular, just kind of waits for a way out. Looks for an escape. That’s how Dean feels, lately. Stuck. Lost. Like there’s no way out and no matter how hard he tries, nobody is rolling down the windows.

*

Dean is driving to Sam and Sarah’s place, nodding along to one of Castiel’s old indie CD’s. He used to tease Cas about them, smiling to himself as he watched him sing along with the slow melody. Now, Dean understands the words. Which isn’t necessarily something he was incapable of before. He thinks now, he wants to relate. He wants to understand the lyrics. He wants to believe that the monstrosity that has now become his life will soon pass. And maybe that’s a good thing.

When he pulls into the driveway, he sits in the car for a minute, shoving his cigarettes into the glove box and popping a piece of gum into his mouth. He takes a deep breath before quickly shuffling to the door. He knocks several times, and can hear a dog barking down the street as he waits. Sam answers the door, and Aan is hanging around his neck with her tiny fingers clutching at his shirt. That changes, though, when she see’s Dean.

"Daddy!"

"Hi, princess." Dean laughs, taking Aan from Sam.

Sam gives Dean a surprised look, followed by Sarah yelling behind him and asking who it is. She walks in when she doesn’t get an immediate answer, and Dean laughs at that.

"Dean, we uh, we weren't expecting you until..monday." She raises an eyebrow.

"I couldn't wait to see my little angel." Dean tickles Aan, visibly brightening up when she laughs and squirms in his arms.

"Well come in, it’s freezing out there."

Sarah ushers everyone inside, and they all sit down around the fireplace. Sam is in an ugly christmas pajama set, and Sarah teases him about it throughout the night. They end up sitting around the fire, with Sam’s famous hot chocolate and listening to Aan talk about how excited she is for her ballet recital on thursday. And for a brief period of time, Dean isn't sad. He doesn’t feel guilty for smiling, doesn't feel angry at himself or the world.

Around 9:30, Aan’s eyelids start to droop, and her grasp on Dean’s jacket loosens as she nods off in his arms. 

"I’m gonna," Dean mouths, pointing behind him in the direction of the room Aan had been staying in. He carefully gets up, carrying her there. He lays her in the bed, tucking her in and turning on her nightlight. It was the kind that spins, casting shadows across the ceiling that looked like stars and moons. She had picked that one out because Cas used to tell her the tales of the galaxies, the stories of the stars and the truth that the planets hide. Whenever she wakes up, she knows she’s safe, surrounded by stories upon stories that her papa had told her.

He sits down beside her, rubbing his thumb across her forehead. She stirs, shifting and wrapping her chubby arms around Deans. He smiles, a warm feeling swarming in his chest before settling there. A sense of love spreads throughout him and he kisses her forehead, feeling grateful for everything he has. Feeling grateful, and selfish because he knows he’s never done anything great enough to deserve the family he does have. He grabs a teddy bear on the other side of her, letting her curl around it.

When he walks back to the living room, Sam and Sarah are in the kitchen. He sits down next to Sam at the table, grabbing one of his cookies sat on a plate in front of him. Sam laughs, rolling his eyes.

"Some of those were for you, anyway."

Dean smiles wide, food in his teeth making Sam cringe and Sarah choke on her milk. They stay that way, talking and laughing and generally enjoying each others company for several more hours. Dean tells stories about that time him and Cas got drunk on the roof of their high school, and Cas ended up vomiting all over the school parking lot. Sam talks about how Cas taught him how to cook, and he taught Cas how to catch a football. Sarah laughs about how Cas somehow persuaded a bridal shop owner to lower the price of her wedding dress by 200$ dollars. They talk about the good times, and the funny times. And Dean thinks that Cas will always be with them, in these memories. And that’s exactly the thought that helps him sleep that night.

*

When Dean wakes up the next morning, he's in Aan's bed. He vaguely remembers crawling into bed with her at about 2 am. The smell of fresh coffee and bacon is enough to get him on his feet. As he's walking to the kitchen, he can hear Aan singing the tune to some classical song that you would hear a high school marching band play. He immediately blames Sam.

"Good morning sleeping beauty." Sarah chimes over her shoulder, cooking something that smells heavenly. 

"That smells awesome," He comments, sitting down next to Sam who's reading some article that looked long and boring and wordy. Sam slides a coffee mug across the table, nodding at Dean. He gratefully smiles, taking a long sip.

"Show your dad what you made, Aan." Sarah grins.

Aan perks up, running to the fridge as fast as her little legs can go, making grabby hands at the aluminum wrapped plate that was sat at the back of the highest shelf. Dean goes up behind her, picking her up and letting her grab it, because she likes to be independent and do things for herself, even if she really isn't. She gets that from Cas.

"I made you this!" She says, crawling into Dean's lap and squirming around with anticipation. 

"Oh yeah?" He laughs.

"Mhm! All by myself!"

"With a little help from Uncle Sam." Sarah chimes in, shuffling to the table and setting down two plates in front of Dean and Sam. It looks just as good as it smells, and it has bacon, eggs, and pancakes. Sam snakes and arm around Sarah's waist, giving her a kiss and helping her get Aan's food as well as her own.

Dean takes the wrapping off of the plate, and he almost gasps. It's a cupcake, half green, and half blue. It's the kind that Cas would make for Dean on their anniversary. One day Dean had walked in and Cas was making a batch of them that were entirely green, because Cas had always said that he wouldn't mind waking up to that green every day. Dean stared at Cas for a moment, as if when he looked away the blue that was staring back at him would disappear. He quickly grabbed the blue food coloring, pouring it in half of the cupcake batter.

"There," he had said.

"I like that better, too." Cas agreed, wiping some icing on Dean's nose.

Dean snapped out of his memories, glancing back up at Sam. 

"She insisted." Sam explained.

Dean shifted his gaze back to Aan, eyes welling with tears as he kissed her on the nose. She giggled, like she always does when he does this, and wrapped her fingers around Dean's free hand.

"Thank you, baby." he whispers.


End file.
